Bad Friends, Good Times
by KSFWolfe
Summary: Bad Friends Trio! A collection of oneshots featuring the most AWESOME characters in Hetalia...I PLEAD THE FIFTH. THIS IS PURE, UNDILUTED CRAAAACK
1. Chapter 1

Alright. Heeeeeere we go.

I just had, had, HAD to write some Bad Friends stuff...It was, you must understand, necessary to my survival. (The previous fact is true.)

So, this is going to be a compilation of a bunch of ficlets featuring (who else?) France, Prussia, and Spain!!! In most of my fics (this one included) country names are mostly used; human names are reserved for close friends, lovers, or when one country just wants another to shut up and listen. In this first oneshot, our three heroes will use both country and human names; it's a mix because, let's face it, in the story you're about to read, all of them are just really, really _drunk._ XD

So without further ado.......we come to.......

**_THE DISCLAIMER. HETALIA DOES NOT BELONG TO ME; IT BELONGS TO HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA!!!_**

HAH. TRICKED YOU. BET YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA GET THE STORY, EH? :D

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_the following text really is the story. sorry for the delay. _

It was dusk. The sun streaked the sun with oranges, purple, and bronze. The highway seemed wrapped in a cocoon of gold, the trees; tall dark spires reaching up in hopes of touching the flaming sky.

"…HOLD ONTO THAT FEELING! STREETLIGHTS! PEOP-UH-ULLL!" the little red convertible broke through the peace like a bullet. A loud, drunken, Journey-howling bullet.

"DON'T STOP! BELIEEEEEVIN'!" the car shot along the empty freeway at least thirty km per hour faster than was legal. It was, contrary to popular belief, not the Autobahn.

The blonde haired man lounging across the back seat flung his arms out, singing loudly and discordantly, his normally melodious voice off key and hoarse from the wine that had once filled the now empty bottles rolling around on the car floor.

The brunette driving was also singing, thought fortunately his hands remained firmly on the steering wheel.

The car's third occupant, a rather scrawny looking albino, was hollering in his scratchy voice between gulps from a bottle of beer. It was not a voice that should ever have been allowed to sing, not even Journey, which can be sung by anyone. Even three drunken young men.

The blonde in the back reached lazily around the back of his head and tugged at the blue ribbon that had held his long hair in a loose ponytail. As it came undone, the slipstream whipped it out of his fingers; he snatched at it, but it was gone, lost to the highway flying by. The man hung over the back of the car and made a 'tch' sound with his tongue.

"What now, France?" drawled the albino riding shotgun.

"M' ribbon's gone, _Prusse,_" France snapped, trying to be annoyed, but the mellowing effect of the wine defeated him.

"Ah ha…I'll get it back fo' you, yeah…" he stood shakily, and clambered over the back of the seat, flipping over completely as the driver swerved, perhaps to avoid a pothole, but perhaps the whiskey he had consumed was taking its toll on his driving skills.

"Ach…_scheiβer…"_

"I know 'Am sexy, Gilbert, but you don't need to so obviously _desperate…_" France smirked at the Prussian who had collapsed on his stomach.

"You sick bastard! Like the awesome me would ever be desperate!" scoffed Prussia.

"What's going on back there?" yelled the driver over the music, craning his neck to see in the rearview mirror.

"Never you mind, Spain! Just drive the car without- Whoa!" Spain's hand slipped, and the convertible swerved violently into the adjoining lane.

"Oops! Sorry!" Spain giggled, and hiccupped.

"If you really want to know, _Espanga,_ I'm making sweet, sweet love to our little Prussia back here," sang France, taking sadistic delight in the look of outrage that crossed Prussia's face, even as he _was _lying on top of the Frenchman.

"Ah…I see…" slurred Spain, happily.

"Pft! Shut up, you wino!" Prussia slapped at France's laughing face, rolling off of him onto the floor. He landed uncomfortably on the wine bottles. "Dun listen to a word 'e says, Antonio…he's a fru…fu- fru_kin_ liar…" the albino struggled to get up, failed, and fell back.

"You need help, Prussia?"

"No!" Prussia clambered onto the seat. He paused, frowned, and thought. "Why did I come back here again?"

France opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shrugged. "I really have no idea."

A pause.

Then all three men burst out laughing.

The car sped onward, going where no man had ever gone before…or something like that.

* * *

Alright, so that was kinda lame. But hopefully the next one will be better.....


	2. Chapter 2

Yay for second chapter!

Some Spain/Romano, but this is NOT Prussia/France. THEY'RE JUST DANCING AROUND IN DRAG. DON'T GET THE WRONG IDEA. I just love these three in their little moments. I had to do this. :P

**also: if you want to see the bad touch trio do something; please PM me! I love ideas!**

-----------------------------------------------------------HETALIA BELONGS TO HIDEKAZ HIMURAYA!!!----------------------------

Prussia was bored. And when Prussia was bored, countries fell, war began, and supermarkets were robbed.

He lounged on the couch, gnawing a Snickers bar, and thinking about West's face when he found the chocolate stains on his sofa.

Having devoured the bar, the albino hopped up and bounced on his heels for a minute. Then, disgusted by the lack of awesome that should be falling all around him, he stormed out of the house.

Prussia walked unsure of where he was going; all he knew was he needed excitement, or someone- preferably Austria- was going to DIE.

His feet took him on an aimless sort of course, and half an hour later, he found himself in front of Spain's house.

Prussia kicked open the door and slouched in angrily.

Spain waltzed into the hall, beaming."Gilberrt!" he trilled. "How nice of you to drop by!"

Prussia scowled. He glanced blackly at the Spaniard, who was buttoning a dress shirt and had on half a tuxedo. "Where're you going, all fancy-schmancy?"

Spain was positively shooting sunbeams in every direction. "I'm taking Romano out to dinner!" he sang.

"mmpf." Prussia scoffed.

"We were going to go ballroom dancing, but it's husband and wife couples, and Lovino wouldn't dress up all pretty." He pouted.

"I'M NOT GOING TO HUMILIATE MYSELF BY PRETENDING TO BE YOUR DAMN WIFE. YOU'RE LUCKY I'M GOING OUT TO DINNER WITH YOU AT ALL, JACKASS!" howled Romano from another room.

Spain smiled fondly. "Yeeeah. Anyway, what're you—"

But Prussia was gazing off into the distance, the evil light of a brainflash in his red eyes.

"Gilbert?"

"Hey hey! Sorry, 'Tonio; I just had an awesome idea an' I gotta go! Have fun with Romano! Hope ya get lucky!" and, with a suggestive wink, he was gone.

Spain smiled, somewhat nonplussed, and pulled on his suit jacket. "Loviii~ let's go"

"Baaaastard," Romano growled, straightening his own jacket,. "You'd better have picked a really good restaurant…"

MEANWHILE, GILBERT---

"France! Eh; FRANCIS!" Prussia banged on the Frenchman's door which, unlike Spain's, was locked.

A minute later, it swung open, and a disgruntled France, towel around his waist appeared. "Prusse? I was taking a shower." He said, resentfully.

Prussia grinned and strolled in. "Good. You're going to have to look your best tonight."

France raised one perfect eyebrow. "And why would that be?"

The albino grinned wickedly. "How'd you like to go on a little _date,_ mein liebling?"

~~*~~

"So…let's get this straight," France said, toweling off his hair. He had finished his shower while Prussia had eaten all the food in his house. "You wan t me to be your 'wife' so we can go ballroom dancing? Can you even dance?"

"Yup. Ain't it awesome? I'm brilliant, I know."

France paused and considered. Then, "Can I wear something sexy?"

"If you feel like you need to, then yes."

The blonde Frenchman grinned. "I'll go peruse my wardrobe…"

~~*~~

The door opened to the dance room, and in stepped a very handsome couple. The man was wearing a fashionable navy and red suit, with silver cufflinks, and his silver hair was brushed immaculately. The Iron Cross at his neck and his bright red eyes were somewhat disconcerting, but only added to his air of mystique.

At his side was an aristocratic woman, with blonde hair gathered atop her head, a few curls come loose artistically. She wore a low cut powder blue dress that showed off her fine figure well. One white gloved hand rested lightly on the silver haired man's arm.

France had had a lot of fun with his outfit.

Hungary had been more than willing to lend them some of her…undergarments to provide France with a means for his womanly shape, once they had explained to her what they were going to do. She had gotten a gleam in her eye that had brought back a lot of awful memories for Prussia, and insisted on helping.

The albino had to admit, though, she had done a good job on France's makeup. He looked every inch the bourgeois lady that befitted p0russia's own awesomeness. He would have to document the image later with his camera.

The pair stepped onto the dance floor and immediately spun into a waltz. France was enjoying himself immensely, especially because of all the dirty looks he was getting from the other female dancers.

Prussia had to bite back a cackle. Francis was almost too good at this. It was almost criminal. He didn't even need a wig; just a shave.

The gallivanted around, France coming all nostalgic, remembering when he had thrown balls nightly and French kings had had affairs with great ladies from Austria and Spain.

Prussia remembered why Prussians were known for war and not dancing; he let France lead and tried to avoid tripping. Fritz would not have been happy.

There was a terrace outside. Prussia dragged France out for some air; there was another couple out there, but one glare from the red eyes of awesome sent them scurrying.

"Ah hah, Prusse, I haven't had this much fun in years!" crowed France, tipping back a glass of wine he had got from who knows where.

Prussia grinned and spat about a mile off the terrace. "You look like a chick," he chuckled. "I gotta remember this."

France fluttered his long eyelashes coquettishly. "I'd better," he trilled, "I'm undercover."

Prussia sighed. "But, you know, Francis…I'm getting a little…"

"Bored?" France grinned in a very unladylike fashion. "I have a little plot, _mon amor_, to make things a little more…shall we say, exciting? I would like, if I may, to create a little disturbance…"

A wild grin split the albino's face. "Well then, partner, shall we dance?"

~~*~~

The music changed- faster, a quick gavotte. The dance was arranged so that everyone was twirling in and out in a circle clockwise.

A couple was dancing meekly; the woman smiled and was about to say something when a twister slashed by, clipping them and sending the couple spiraling into another pair, ending up slamming into the wall. "I say- you!" the man cried, indignantly, but the twister had disappeared into the mass of people.

France was in the seventh heaven of malicious delight, while Prussia was floating somewhere near cloud nine of violence.

The blonde had watched the chain reaction of his well timed elbow jab with glee- it was just like in the 1600s, when dancing swiftly by, and extracting revenge on a rival, and away again.

Prussia steered them around and made a flyby on a rather large woman and a stickly sort of guy with a bad haircut. The maneuver had three groups tripping and crashing.

Prussia _liked_ dancing. Fritz would be proud.

The two managed to sweep the whole room, leaving a trail of angry and unbalanced couples. It was all Prussia could do not to scream 'AIRSTRIIIIKE!' whenever they hit.

Finally, the only two couples not nursing twisted ankles and wounded prides were the cross-dressing France and the cackling Prussia, and one other couple that had managed to avoid the deadly pair.

As the twirling men (well, France was a girl for the time) moved in for the kill, Prussia caught a glimpse of the man's face and had a double take.

There was no mistaking those sparkling green eyes.

"Spain?" he hissed, swooping by, France following.

The man winked.

Now that Prussia looked closer, the woman had that pissed off expression that could only belong to Romano. Romano in _drag._

The albino nearly fell over.

The two couples waltzed around each other, more people were recovering from Hurricane Bad Touch and dancing again, but avoiding the pairs in the centre.

Spain spun the unhappy looking Romano, and France twirled in his full skirt.

The music became slow and unawesome, so the foursome drifted out to the terrace.

"We decided to come," Spain said, ecstatically.

"Bastard manipulated me!" spluttered Romano, going red.

"Oh, Lovi, don't pretend it's not fuuun!" Spain huggled him. "And you're so _cute_ in that dress!"

"Not as hot as me, but still cute," France agreed.

Prussia rolled his eyes. He caught sight of the people inside, spinning uninhibited. That couldn't be allowed to last. He smiled evilly. "So…who wants to dance?"

Spain beamed. "Yay! Let's go, Romano!"

"NO WAY IN HELL!"

"YES, BITCHEZ! AWESOMEITY HAD ARRIVED!"

France just sighed, adjusted his heels, and pulled the albino onto the dance floor.

Awesome.

* * *

My parents took some ballroom dancing lessons for god knows what reason (it sounds like Hell to me XD) and I got this idea. I can just picture France...waltzing around in a blue dress...destroying people's happinesses...

Please tell me about any errors; there are probably a couple cuz I have a band aid on my index finger which is playing havoc with my typing. ;_; If there are any that my proofreading missed; I WELCOME GRAMMAR NAZIS. _Heil Dictionary!_


	3. Chapter 3 and OMAKE

Chapter Three............karaoke was requested, and I was listening to the radio the other day...and out of the dark pit called my Imagination came the following.

Hetalia: Hidekaz Himuraya

Tik Tok: Ke$ha (yes...don't be scared of this disclaimer; the song is in there. XD)

Back in the USSR: The Beatles

* * *

England banged the tankard on the bar, hard. Three times. The demure bartender came over and obligingly filled his mug again. The depressed Brit gulped at it, and then flopped his head down on the bar. "God damn war," he growled into the wood.

At that moment, the door to the bar swung violently open, and three men strode in, arms around each other, all very cheerful.

Far too cheerful for England to stand.

"Bloody hell…" he turned, ready to yell at them to get out of his bar (a ridiculous claim in any case), when he saw who exactly had invaded the previously quiet refuge.

"_Angleterre!" _Cried out France in ecstasy, seeing his old rival drunk and pissed off in front of him. He unlooped his arm from around Spain and grabbed England, spinning him around and plunking him down on a bar stool.

"You god damned frog! Gittoff me!"

France pouted. "Ah, _mon cher,_ cheer up! It's Saturday! And," he added, voice lowering to a suggestive purr, "The night is young, bon?"

England scowled.

France shrugged.

Prussia strolled up and slung an arm over the Frenchman's shoulder. "C'mon, Francis…can't cha see _Ah-ther_" Here he affected a British drawl "Is in no mood to play?"

"And you are, Prusse? I'd be delighted!"

Prussia smirked. "You are a _filthy_ one, Francis…which is why I keep you around…"

Antonio stood beatifically in the centre of the room. His eyes lit up as a song he liked came on the radio. He grabbed France by the wrist and began twirling him around the room. France laughed, a sound like bells ringing, if those same bells had a few crows trapped inside them which were screeching and trying to get out. That effect was probably the alcohol.

Prussia sat down on a stool and clapped exaggeratedly.

The door opened and Germany started to enter, Italy trailing behind. "Ooo, look Germaaany! It's Nii-san and-"

Germany shoved Italy back out the door and began leaving himself.

"Going so soon, West?" Prussia yelled cheerily.

Germany sent him a look of pure daggers.

Italy's voice rose above the music in the bar. "Hey! Germany! But Nii-san was there! Can we go back and have fun with them? Ger-"

"You don't want to. Let's go back home."

Germany hurried the complaining Italian back home, trying not to imagine what was going on in the bar.

England reached for his mug, missed, and tried again, this time grasping it and slamming it to his lips.

"Whoa there, Iggy," Prussia commented, lightly, "Don't hurt yourself there!"

"Angleterre! Come dance with us!" France yelled from across the room, where he was dragging Spain along at a quick waltz pace. England tried to vapourize him with his glare, but the alcohol he had consumed wasn't letting him.

France's sharp eyes alighted on something lying in a corner. He stopped abruptly, and Spain fell over. "Is that…"

Prussia had seen it, too, and dived at the pile of wiring. He held up…a microphone. "A karaoke set!" he yelled, triumphantly. Spain leapt up, eyes wide. "Is it working?"

"Only one way to find out…" Prussia cackled, and went over to the antique stereo set. He found a mic jack and plugged in the cord. Then he adjusted the speakers, and flipped the switch.

__

A high pitched wail filled the room. Spain fell over again. France yelped. Prussia quickly slammed his fist against the power button. The wail cut off.

"Take the mic away from the speaker, you idiot!" yelled France.

England, seeing no good from this, snuck out the door. (It took him two tries; he walked into the doorframe the first try.)

France dragged the heavy cable away from the speaker. "alright," he said, "now try." Prussia cautiously stuck out a hand and hovered over the power button. Spain jammed his fingers in his ears.

Prussia poked the button tentatively. The red light went on. No screaming.

Everyone relaxed, even the bartender, who was trying to ignore the three men.

France tapped the microphone experimentally. _**T-TT. T-TT. **_

"It works!" he leaned into it conspiratorially. _**TEST-TING. TEST-TING.**_

_**HELLO, ALL YOU LOVELY LADIES OUT THERE. TONIGHT WE HAVE A WONDERFUL SHOW FOR ALL OF YOU…RELAX! SIT BACK. ENJOY. NOW, WITH THE FIRS-**_

Prussia jumped him from behind and wrestled the mic away. _**YEAH YEAH, FRANCIS, IMMA LET CHOU FINISH BUT AH THINK THAT GILBERT WEILLSCHMIDT CAN PUT ON A MUCH BETTA SHOW DAN YOU EVA COULD. NOW. EVERYONE AWAKE BACK THERE? AWESOME. ANTONIO; TURN ON THE RADIO. **_

"You annoying little- Gilbert, I want the microphone!"

Spain fiddled with the dials on the radio. A fuzzy station hacked through the speakers, then became clearer.

'-ER'S UP TONIGHT IMMA FIGHT 'TIL WE SEE THE SUNLIGHT'

France snatched up the mic as Prussia took a second to identify the sound. _**TICK TOCK ON THE CLOCK BUT THE PARTY DON'T STOP ONO, OH OH OO WHOA OO, WHOA OH OH OO WHOA, OH WHOA OH**_

_**AIN'T GOTTA CARE IN THE WORLD BUT WE GOT PLENTY OF BEER**_

"Damn right," Prussia laughed, slapping the bartop for more of the aforementioned substance. The bartender looked ready to shoot himself.

_**AIN'T GOT NO MONEY IN MY POCKET BUT I'M ALREADY HERE NOW THE DUDES LININ'UP 'CAUSE THEY HEAR WE GOT SWAGGER BUT WE KICK EM TO THE CURB UNLESS THEY LOOK LIKE**_

"MICK JAGGER!" howled Prussia, leaping up to snatch the microphone away from France. "I sing way better," he bragged. "Check it."

_**I'M TALKIN' BOUT; EVERYBODY GETTING CRUNK crunk BOYS TRY TO TOUCH MY JUNK junk GONNA SMACK IF THEY GET TOO DRUNK drunk NIGHT NIGHT WE GOING TILL THEY KICK US OUT out POLICE SHUT US DOWN DOWN**_

_**POLICE SHUT US DOWN DOWN**_

_**PO PO SHUT US DOWN**_

Spain and France crowded around the microphone, and added their own voices to the cacophony of dissonance.

_**DON'T STOP MAKE IT POP DJ BLOW MY SPEAKERS UP TONIGHT IMMA FIGHT 'TIL WE SEE THE SUNLIGHT TICK TOCK ON THE CLOCK BUT THE PARTY DON'T STOP ONO, OH OO WHOA OH, OH OO OH WHOA OH OO OH WHOA OH**_

***

Austria strolled down the street, enjoying the evening. The sky was that dusky purple of twilight, and he liked the peace and quiet. Nothing like a walk after dinner. He would go around the block, and then come back in time to catch the Olympics at eight. He wanted to see the skiing; there were several Austrian athletes competing about whom he was excited. He smiled and turned the corner, basking in the stillness of the air, and the soft calm that-

_**NOW THE PARTY DON'T START 'TIL I WALK IN **_

_**DON'T STOP MAKE IT POP DJ BLOW MY SPEAKERS UP TONIGHT IMMA FIGHT TIL W-**_

Austria turned quickly around and practically ran down the street, back to the quiet. He had recognized at least two of the multitude of drunken singing voices, and that had been enough to persuade him to cut short his walk. He shuddered, and headed home again. He needed a glass of brandy to soothe his nerves after _that._

***

Prussia rubbed his throat. He needed something to ease his vocal chords, ragged after the screaming chorus. "Hey! Beer!" he yelled hoarsely at the bar. No answer. At the third 'oh oo whoa oh oo whoa' the bartender had abandoned his post. The albino glanced around, shrugged, and refilled his own glass.

France was fiddling around with the amp, a drunken grin plastering his face. The radio began to crank out another tune, this one unfamiliar to Spain, so he was manning the controls, so he twisted the dials and found another station, playing the last chords of 'Somebody to Love'.

"An oldies station!" France enthused. "What are they going to play next?"

A moment later, the sounds of an aeroplane landing crackled through the speakers, and a beat took up.

'ZOOMED IN FROM MIAMI BEACH BOAC, DIDN'T GET TO BED LAST NIGHT! ALL THE FLIGHT THE PAPER BAG WAS ON MY KNEE,'

"_**MAN I HAD A DREADFUL FLIGHT, I'M-"**_

"BACK IN THE USSR!" By some cruel, twisted coincidence, as soon as France began screeching out the first strains, the door swung open, and a tall, menacing figure filled the doorway. He stepped into the light, grinning. "Da! I like this song!"

Prussia froze in the act of downing a glass of beer. Spain fell down. France dropped the microphone. In the background, the music kept playing, but the whole room temperature seemed to have dropped a couple notches.

"R-Russia!" France stammered, sober enough to recognize the danger here. "Are you coming to have a d-drink?"

Russia beamed. "Oh, yes! I always come here on Fridays!"

"I-I didn't know that!" France grinned weakly, making a mental note never to come back here on Fridays.

The giant Soviet walked over to the bar and sat next to Prussia, who hastily put down his glass and inched away from him. "Hallo, East!" Russia patted him heavily on the back. "How're you doing?"

Prussia glowered. "Fine, thank _you,_" he said, standing up and totally _not_ running away to France. "But I think we were going, now, right?"e smiled

Both France and Spain nodded vigorously.

"Ah." Russia's face fell a bit. "I see. Well, have a nice night! Don't walk into anything!" He laughed.

The three men scurried out of the bar.

Russia sat for a minute staring at the door, then sighed, and turned back towards the bar. The music played lightly in the background. "You don't know how lucky you are, boy," he sang softly. "Back- oh yeah, of course. Lucky." He reached over the bar to the shelves behind it and snatched a bottle of vodka. "Lucky…"

***

France, Prussia, and Spain walked, breathing hard, down the street.

"Man!" Prussia spluttered. "We really lucked out there, eh, 'Tonio? Coulda been eaten by that nasty unawesome Russia, but we totally played it cool and got out!"

France nodded hard. "Definitely. And in any case, I've never really liked that song."

"Me neither."

"Yeah, it's a bit…"

"Creepy?"

"Yeah. Most creepy."

The hurried down the street, nearly knocking over someone going the other way. Prussia was worried it might be Belarus, following her brother, and so he dragged the other two along without even apologizing or seeing who it was.

"Aw, it's so dark out- ow!"

France stared into the dark, trying to see what was going on. Prussia rubbed his head. "I think I just- naw, too unawesome for me."

"Did you just…" Spain tried to form words to describe what he thought he had seen.

"…walk into…" France helped.

"…a _lamppost?_" Spain finished, incredulously.

"No!"

"You did!"

"Hey; it's dark!"

"_I_ would never do something so inelegant."

"Shut up, you fucktard Frenchie! It's dark!"

Spain giggled. Prussia slapped out at where he thought France was. He missed and hit his hand against the offending post. "Stupid…dammit…"

"Maybe we should get home."

"Whose home?"

"Not mine, Mine's neat for once in half a century."

"Romano'll kill me if I bring home you two," Spain said, way to cheerily for the context.

Prussia groaned. "And Ludwig's going to be home with his little _boy toy_ Feli, so we can't…what?"

He could make out through the gloom that both Spain and France were looking at him. Suddenly, light dawned.

Not really, it was still dark as fuck, but at least in Prussia's mind.

"Oh…ah…well," he said, grinning wickedly, "I guess we know what we'll be doing tonight…"

* * *

(Somewhere, Hungary has felt the presence of three fellow stalkers enter the world, and is preparing her video tapes and camera for some hobby time.)

* * *

OMAKE: with RussiaxAmerica if you squint at it at a ninety degree angle while hanging by your ankles from a forklift.

It was really dark. America squinted ahead, wondering why his hero-ness wasn't allowing him to see better in the dark. It just wasn't cool.

Suddenly, he was brutally assaulted, head on, by three total strangers mumbling in low voices! He reeled indignantly, and tried to capture at least one of them, but when he twisted around, they were gone.

Weeeeeeeird.

America trudged warily onward. He didn't want to be on the streets at this hour.

Suddenly, the friendly lights of a pub hit him, and he gratefully turned to the doorway. He pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the discarded microphone lying on the ground, and the radio softly issuing some old song by Pink Floyd.

Next, he noticed the tall man sitting alone at the bar.

He froze.

Russia?

Russia was drinking steadily from a bottle of vodka. America couldn't see it was vodka, but what else would the man be drinking? It was Russia, for god's sake!

America cautiously approached. "Heeeey, Russia?"

Russia turned. His expression was one of misery for a second, but he replaced it with a beaming smile so fast America wasn't sure if he had dreamed it or not.

"America-kun! Hello! Come in for a drink?"

America nodded, slowly. He sat down, a few seats away from Russia, and looked up for the bartender.

"No one is here, so just serve yourself," Russia explained, cheerily.

America reached over the bar and plucked a bottle of whiskey off the shelf, and a glass. He poured some out liberally, and gulped it down. "So…Russia…whatcha doing here, all by yourself?"

Russia's face fell. "I always come here on Fridays. I hope that someday I'll run into one of my friends, and they'll come have a drink with me. And today, you're here, America! I'm very happy. You're one of my friends!"

America was about to voice his doubts about the 'friend' issue, but the Russian looked so happy that he couldn't possibly. He smiled, too. "Yeah. I'll have a drink with you, Russia."

* * *

Oh, I'm such a sap. I just couldn't leave Russia there, with his last appearance being him all emo and lonely. So I decided to throw America in there to cheer him up ^^ I'll leave it up to you to decided how many drinks they get to ;D

Again: If you want the Trio to do something; Just drop me a note! I'll try to fufill requests! C:

(BTW: Russia calls Gilbo 'East' because in my headcanon, Russia never really remembers that the Berlin Wall is down now, thankyouverymuch and Prussia is back to just...ex-nation Prussia.)


	4. Chapter 4

Hey! I know, I know. It's been a while since one of these. My apologies! :P

Anyway, enjoy! (Oh, and the link is legit. The story will make more sense if you watch it when Prussia does...just take out all the spaces! There are five.)

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himuruya!!!!

* * *

**SUB: Bar Pics**

**From: Francis Bonnefoy (monsieurAmor)**

**Sent: Thursday April 1, 2010**

**To: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (senortomato), Gilbert Weillschmidt (TotallyFuckingAwesome)**

_I had the pleasure of taking Angleterre out drinking the other night. No idea why he agreed. He must love me 3 _

_In any case. He became rather…inebriated. Truly, I didn't know at the time that the place had video surveillance. Nor am I at liberty to reveal how I got my hands on the tapes…but you may enjoy the footage at leisure. Obviously, Arthur has no idea what YouTube even_ is_, so there's no need to worry about him discovering this video. He's really behind the times, non?_

_Ton Ami,_

_Francis~_

http:// www. youtube. com/watch ?v=dQw4w 9WgXcQ

Gilbert opened the email and scanned it. He cackled, and clicked on the link.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

RICKROLL'D!~~~~~

The albino snapped the window shut the second he saw Rick Asterly smooth back his hair. That loser Francis! He should have known Arthur would never go drinking with that Frenchie.

He closed his laptop shut and slouched into the next room. Ludwig was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.

"Anything good going on?" the Prussian asked, casually.

Ludwig pushed his reading glasses up his nose and said, vaguely, "mmmm…" he flipped through the pages until he came to an article. "Well…" there was something…ah. Here…it says that Russia's taken over all the world and Austria helped him." The blonde's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Most interesting…"

Gilbert had gone even paler than normal. _"WHAAAAT? AND YOU JUST SIT THERE!? WHERE'S MY GUN? I HAVE TO GO-"_

Ludwig looked up, a faint smile playing about his lips. "April Fools, Bruder. April Fools."

Gilbert facepalmed.

* * *

Tee hee~ It's short, and it's fail, and YOU GOT RICKROLL'D (hopefully you actually put in that link XD) But man it was worth it. C:

HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S, EVERYONE! HUGS FOR ALL MY READERS AND GLOMP HUGS FOR REVIEWERS!~


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